


Unlikely Alliances

by RoseWritingUniverses



Category: South Park
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Panic Attacks, Underage Drinking, unintentional self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWritingUniverses/pseuds/RoseWritingUniverses
Summary: Stan's not sure what's wrong with him, but the thoughts and feelings he's trying to hide are becoming too much of a burden to go on keeping them a secret.And then Craig Tucker comes along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, who doesn't want an expansion on Stan's emotional crises after those Getting Old/Assburder episodes, ya know? Also, I have no clue why I love this pairing this much, nor do I know why this is the first thing I'm writing in months. Here it is though.

Stan sighed as he wrapped his forearms in gauze, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was surprised there was any skin left, it stung and bled like he’d ripped it off completely. If he could predict which nights he would scratch at his arms while he slept then maybe he could prevent this from getting any worse. Hell, if Stan could figure out how to get rid of this anxiety problem period that would be great- but that would probably mean talking to someone, and he definitely wasn’t going to do that. 

“Stanley! Are you coming downstairs?” his mom called up. The sudden noise startled him, and he felt a slight irritation by his reaction. He groaned softly and rubbed his face. It was time to leave his room, eat whatever piece of fruit his mom shoved into his hands, and drive to pick up Kyle and Kenny for school. Just like every day. 

“Yeah, mom. I’ll be right down.” Stan pulled his sleeves down to his hands, picked up his backpack from the floor and lifted it to his shoulders. Before he became the responsible one with the license he would have taken a swig of whiskey, but now the idea didn’t sit right with him. Some days were more tempting than others. 

 

“Do you think Heidi would mind if I put a bunch of origami hearts in her locker for Valentine’s Day?” Kyle asked on their way to second-period English. This was the third idea he’d come up with since getting into the car that morning.

“It’s romantic, yeah, but if you do too many then she’ll have a bunch of papers on the floor that she has to clean up. So like, do a small, specific number that’s relevant to your relationship or whatever,” Stan replied. He knew the way to be romantic without screwing things up. Wendy had actually trained him to be a pretty great boyfriend before she dumped him for Cartman. 

“Or just get a bunch of flavored condoms and a bra-panty set. It’s golden,” Kenny said from Kyle’s other side. Stan snorted while Kyle sputtered. 

“K-Kenny! I can’t do that! I mean, she and I haven’t even done that yet,” Kyle hush-yelled. The three of them came to a stop outside the classroom. Stan and Kyle had AP English together, but Kenny had shop a few hallways down. 

“Dude. It’s Valentine’s Day. Be bold,” Kenny grinned. Then he turned on his heels and walked down the hallway with the kind of swagger only he possessed. Stan envied the energy his friend had. 

“Wait. Stan- do you think he’s right?” Stan glanced at his wide-eyed friend before continuing to walk into the classroom. 

“Kenny said that to get a reaction. Go with the origami hearts. If you want to get her a gift, get her like, simple earrings or something,” Stan said. He sat down in his back corner seat and worked on pulling out his work. Kyle sat in front of him, as always, nodding along to Stan’s advice. 

Stan rubbed his face, hoping that somehow he would gain the energy he needed to make it through the rest of the day. When he opened his eyes again, the world answered him. 

Craig Tucker walked through the door and it was the little jolt to his heart that Stan needed to lift his head up for class. It was what gave him a slight mood boost most days, seeing the baseball player sitting in his specifically-assigned seat by the teacher. Every once in a while Craig would meet his gaze and give him a middle finger without deviating from his normal deadpan expression. Stan had started returning the middle finger a month or so into class, and Craig would nod and look back to whatever his attention had been on before. Stan got the idea that this was just Craig’s nonverbal form of greeting.

Stan thought about Craig more often than he even liked admitting to himself, but he blamed it on the weird timing of starting high school. Back in freshman year, Stan realized that not every guy also thought other guys were attractive just like girls and came to the conclusion he was bisexual. He didn’t tell anyone because there wasn’t really a point- the only other guys who weren’t 100% straight were Craig and Tweek- and they were in a relationship, had been since the fourth grade. The only person who knew was Kyle, but because Stan never talked about any boys nothing really changed. 

And then, of course, the iconic couple known as “Creek” broke up right after the first Homecoming. (Given how relationships work in elementary and middle school, it was surprising they lasted that long.) Suddenly Stan’s options had gone from zero guys to two, and he knew who his preference was. It was the tall, lanky, raven-haired boy with braces and black-framed glasses. Even though he hadn’t grown into his lean, athletic body yet, rid himself of the braces, or hadn’t gotten contacts for those clear, blue-green eyes… 

“Mr. Marsh?” Stan’s attention shifted back to the present and he saw his teacher, Ms. Jones, staring at him, along with the few students who actually paid attention. He blinked and started scratching lightly at his forearm through his sleeve and bandaging. 

“Can you tell me what the Monster asked of Victor Frankenstein at the end of chapter sixteen?” She had that look about her that Stan saw on many of his teachers, the one that implied they doubted his intelligence because he was a football player. 

“The creature asked him to make a wife for him, so he wouldn’t be alone,” Stan answered. Contrary to popular belief, quarterbacks were capable of high school-level literacy, and Stan had to keep proving this to his teachers. Ms. Jones had a scowl on her face for half a second before going on with the lesson. The incident clearly irritated Kyle, who muttered something under his breath, and Stan appreciated it. He just didn’t get mad anymore- in comparison to his best friend he wasn’t the smart one, and nobody seemed to care if he did well in classes anyway, most people assumed he didn’t.

On the bright side, Ms. Jones didn’t make him answer any other questions. 

 

Stan took off his shirt and jeans when he got home and dove under his sheets. Two more teachers had tried to make an example of him, and that included the math teacher that made him go up to the front board and explain the hardest question on the homework sheet. It was only because the planets had mysteriously aligned that he got it all right. Math was his hardest subject and just having to answer a question made him nervous, this was enough to almost double his heart rate. He wanted to take a nap and wipe his memory of the day’s events. 

Sparky, the loyal, 9-year-old dog that he was, seemed to notice his melancholy when he got home and followed him to his room. The dog jumped onto his bed, legs half on the mattress, half on Stan’s body. He peered into Stan’s soul, and the two of them remained still for a moment. 

“Hey,” Stan murmured. Sparky took this as acceptance and laid down adjacent to his favorite human. Stan pulled an arm out from under the covers and started stroking just below his dog’s ears. It was starting to become worrying how often this happened, Stan knew, but he didn’t know how to go about changing the situation so he just pulled his pet closer to his body. Not for the first time, he hoped that Sparky’s warmth would ease the tightness in his chest, but it only helped so much. It was at least enough to ease him into a nap. 

By this point in the year, Stan had set an alarm for six at night, right before dinner, and just enough time to set up his desk for doing homework after he ate. It was the only way he could make sure he functioned at a basic level. He also chose to interpret Sparky’s watchful gaze as the right amount of supervision and pressure to enforce this, though sometimes he really couldn’t make himself get out of bed to eat, let alone do homework.

Hours later, when Stan had eaten dinner with his parents and Grandpa- who lived with them again because they couldn’t pay for the retirement home and Shelly’s college- done his homework and showered, he was ready to curl up in his bed. He had a bad feeling about the night, so he changed the gauze on his arms in preparation. In an effort to ease the tension enough to fall asleep, he drank a little of the whiskey that he kept in his nightstand. He focused on his breathing, trying to open up his lungs more because it felt like they were squeezed half the time. 

… Shit. Maybe he should talk to somebody about this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's where Craig comes in.

It turned out that talking to someone about his problem was a lot harder than Stan thought, especially after doing his best to do the exact opposite for who knows how long. When he’d woken up the morning after making the decision, he was hit with the question of who he should talk to, and he was immediately lost. He knew he had people who loved him and who wanted him to be happy- his mom, Kyle, and Kenny especially- but he had so many reservations about going to them with his problems. 

His mom had a lot going on, and most of it was his dad, who somehow managed to continue the same type of nonsense Stan witnessed during his childhood. She also worked part-time now since she foresaw upcoming financial responsibilities of more college and more Randy Shenanigans. Stan also worried that if he confessed how shitty he’s been feeling that she would take it personally and blame herself. He knew it wasn’t her fault how he felt, and she even made sure he ate healthy food which probably helped him somehow. 

Kyle and Kenny were his best friends. Kyle knew him better than anyone and Kenny knew how it felt to go through a shit time, and he knew that if he asked them to listen to him or to help him figure out what to do that they probably would. It was just that every time he thought about telling them he got flashbacks from when he had just turned ten and he had the first episode of this awful shitstorm that lightninged and thundered in his head. Stan was absolutely terrified that if he so much as gave them a hint about how he was going through that again that they would just avoid him until he sorted himself out. He couldn’t do that, he couldn’t risk not being around them because sometimes having them around was the only thing that kept him from fucking losing it. 

He felt like he was truly fucked. There was no way that he could go to anyone else he knew because everyone in South Park talked and pretty much every adult in South Park was a fucking moron. Shit, how far would he have to go outside of Park county in order to find a decent therapist? Did he even want a therapist? Should he be researching this shit? Damn it, this was why he didn’t want to do this alone anymore, he didn’t know what to do in order to help himself. 

Stan spent the whole morning thinking about how screwed he was and completely missed the lesson in math which definitely didn’t help things. The more he thought about his lack of options the less he could breathe and the less he could sit still. When the bell rang for lunch he raced to his locker to get his backpack, stuffing notebooks and folders in there with much less care than normal. He knew he couldn’t handle the rest of the day if he couldn’t hold his hand still enough to write, or if every time someone looked at him he wanted to throw up. Fuck, what was wrong with him? What was this?

He didn’t make it passed the back doors of school before collapsing against the wall and sliding down. He rubbed his chest in an effort to self-soothe but if anything that made it worse. Thoughts moved too fast for him to comprehend, but he knew what he was feeling: fear, absolute and all-encompassing fear. He was going to die. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, and as much as he wanted someone, anyone to help him he also didn’t want someone he knew to see him like this. 

“Marsh, what the fuck… Marsh, hey hey hey!” Someone from Stan’s left came in and rushed to kneel down by him. Stan could barely hear them over the blood rushing in his ears, but he felt them take his hands in theirs. 

“Okay, uh, Stan? Stan, come on you need to open your eyes and look at me, okay? Fucking look at me!” Stan didn’t open his eyes so much as he nearly pushed them out of his head and wildly looked at his surroundings before settling on the figure in front of them. His vision may have been blurry but he could still recognize who came to his rescue.

“Stan, you need to pay attention to what I’m saying, okay? You’re having a panic attack and I’m going to help you breathe again,” Craig said. His normal tone had been replaced with caution and concern. Stan whimpered because of course, the guy he harbored a crush on was the one to see him in this state. 

Craig instructed him to imitate what he was doing and placed Stan’s hand over his heart in order to feel the steady heartbeat. Stan followed the breathing Craig did for a couple minutes before the roar in his ears stopped and his shaking remained only in his hands. Craig reached forward and brushed the wetness off of Stan’s face, and Stan blinked the remaining tears away. Then he followed where Craig’s gaze went next and cursed. He hadn’t even realized. 

“Fuck, I uh, I have bandages in my car,” he mumbled. Craig stared for a moment more and then nodded. He helped Stan stand up, made sure they gathered their things before they started the trek to Stan’s car in the student parking lot. He kept a hand wrapped around his arm in case Stan was too shaky to walk too far. He didn’t seem too bothered by Stan getting in the driver’s seat, but he rushed over to the passenger’s side to get in. He batted Stan’s hand away when he reached for the glove compartment. 

Craig seemed to know what he was doing with the first aid kit, quickly preparing what he needed to clean a wound and cover it up. Stan watched with wonder, questioning what happened in the past that caused his crush to know what to do in this situation. All of a sudden Craig stopped, and Stan blinked at him. 

“You’re gonna have to take your shirt off,” Craig said, his nasal monotone back. Right, his shirt. Stan pulled the sleeves of his jacket off first before lifting his shirt off over his head. He hoped that any redness on his face could be easily explained by the episode he just recovered from. Once again, Craig paused as he saw the gauze already wrapped around both of his arms, but didn’t say anything. He just applied the dressing while Stan sat there, and then put everything back into the first aid kit, and into the glove compartment. Stan didn’t like the quiet that followed. 

“I didn’t- I don’t do it on purpose. This… panic attack or whatever has never happened before. My arms… I scratch them in my sleep and I guess I do it hard enough that I bleed. I swear, I never knew it was happening while it was happening,” Stan rambled because Craig had to know that at least. His rescuer stared at the dashboard. 

“I didn’t know quarterbacks could have an anxiety disorder,” he muttered. Stan shrugged, trying to appear calm even though his hands still twitched. He filed the comment on having an anxiety disorder away for later worrying. 

“I can if nobody on the team knows about it… or anybody, I guess,” he admitted. His teammates had probably assumed that the occasional bandages on his arms were due to injuries obtained during games or practices. Nobody ever even looked at him funny, let alone asked him about it. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“How long has it been going on?” Craig whispered. Stan had never had a one-on-one conversation with him before, and it had not escaped his notice that the two of them were alone in his car and Stan had his shirt off. He had been hoping this would happen under different circumstances. 

“The scratching thing or the anxiety thing?”

“Both, I guess.”

Stan thought about it. “Well, I mean, the scratching thing happened after Wendy broke up with me at the end of last year… but this shit with my head being fucked kind of started… well, it started in fourth grade.” Craig raised his eyebrows at that. It was probably a surprise that one of the most popular kids in school had been suffering from a mental illness for seven years and nobody knew about it. 

“Holy shit, dude. You taking anything for this?”

“Yeah, I mean, whiskey helps.” Craig shook his head at that. 

“No, Marsh, I meant prescriptions. Like, are you taking medication that a doctor told you to take?” Oh. Man, Stan hadn’t even thought of those. He shook his head and Craig sighed. 

“Do you go to therapy?” Again, Stan shook his head. Craig’s expression hardened, though it was hard to tell since it was always a little hard. 

“What do you do then? Like, surely someone helps you when you scratch your skin open and shit?” Stan swallowed and looked down. Here he was, being reminded of the problem that sent him into a panic attack in the first place. 

“That’s the thing, actually. Nobody knows. Up until last night, I didn’t want anybody to know, but it’s gotten kind of… bad recently and I can’t keep tearing my own skin off, ya know? But then I thought about who I would tell and all day I’ve been freaking out about it and… well, you saw what happened. Also, um, thanks for this. Pretty sure I was gonna pass out or die or something,” Stan looked down the entire time and rubbed the back of his neck. When he glanced up, he was taken aback at how Craig looked… mildly horrified. 

“Jesus, Marsh. You mean I’m the only one who knows you’re like this?” Stan nodded. He felt a new wave of anxiety come over him at the idea of his crush knowing that there was something wrong with him before anyone else. Fuck, the ground might as well swallow him up right now. Craig seemed to be having an argument in his head. It was probably him considering the best way to extract himself from the situation and never talk to Stan again. Yeah, that made sense. 

“Okay, fuck. Look, you can’t deal with this alone anymore, obviously. I mean, Tweek may have ripped his hair out on occasion but he never made himself bleed, and he never got that close to passing out. So, Stan, this is what we’re going to do…”

Wait… we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! I'm trying to get the characterization right while still going for this plot idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's honesty hour.

Craig had insisted on driving Stan home even though they both knew he was fine. Stan suspected that part of it was because Craig didn’t have a car on his own and typically rode the bus, but he didn’t say anything. It was relieving to be in the passenger seat for once, especially since the panic attack had wiped out any energy he still had for the day. The way the car rolled over the roads lulled Stan to a half-sleeping state, the first time he had been calm all day. He didn’t notice that Craig had pulled into the Marsh’ driveway until he killed the engine.

“Marsh, come on, you’re home. Get your shit.” Even when Craig was being helpful he could still come off as rough and insensitive. Stan didn’t mind, all his brain understood was the simple order he was given and put it into action. He yanked his backpack from the back seat and pushed the car door open, getting out and standing up. He may have done all of it a little too quickly because he got a headrush. He could feel himself swaying a little bit.

“Whoa, okay, let’s get you upstairs dude,” Craig said as he grabbed Stan’s elbow. Stan let himself be dragged to his front porch where he watched Craig unlock the door with the keys Stan forgot he had. He wondered if he could get away with leaning against Craig with his current state as an excuse. He decided not to push it since Craig pushed open the door and pulled the both of them inside. If he weren’t so tired Stan would really get excited at experiencing Craig pulling him up to his bedroom. Fuck, why was he exhausted all of a sudden?

It almost seemed as though Craig was his mom scoping out his room for alcohol with the way he looked around. Stan felt wary about walking in, but of course, Sparky, who must have realized that there was a guest, trotted into the room and straight to the stranger. He didn’t growl or bark but strained his neck up in order to make Craig look in his eyes. Stan knew this trick, it just took one look into his dog’s soulful eyes and then Sparky was in Ear-Scratch City, and Craig didn’t seem to be the exception. Stan took this as a cue to walk in and drop his stuff, then fall face first onto his bed.

“Have you eaten today?” The question caught him off guard and it made Stan think. Had he eaten? Yeah, surely, because his mom always- oh.

“Um, no actually. My mom normally hands me fruit or whatever but she’s working a double shift today, and I didn’t eat anything during lunch because when I feel bad I don’t really feel like eating.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain himself to someone he had barely talked to in years, but Craig’s tone made it happen.

“How often do you feel bad?” He felt Sparky climb onto his bed with him, so he moved around until he was sitting, leaning back on his pillows. Sparky put his head in his lap.

“I mean, it’s been getting worse lately so, maybe once a week I might not eat more than a handful of food. It’s off-season though, so if I lose a couple pounds it’s not a big deal. And it’s not like I do it on purpose, ya know? I just feel… sad or anxious during school so I don’t eat, and when I come home sometimes all I can do is sleep or stare at the wall. I barely have the energy to talk, let alone go downstairs and eat.”

Where the hell was all of this information coming from? Why the hell was he telling Craig, of all people? Stan wished he could shut up… but this is the first person he’s talked to about this since that disaster in fourth grade, and Craig doesn’t look like he’s about to tell him to shut up and stop being a pussy. Maybe he really needed to talk about this.

“Stan… how bad do you feel?” It must have been the cautious, quiet tone, or the fact that Stan was already emotionally worn out, but something about the question drew tears to his eyes. Maybe he was afraid of the actual answer. He opened his mouth to answer and had to force down the shakiness he felt.

“I… sometimes thoughts just start piling up in my head. And my body feels like it’s drowning. I start thinking about what would happen if I just, I dunno, stopped breathing? Being alive? And then I look down and I’ve started scratching at my bandages really hard and I make myself stop. And then I drink some whiskey. And then I go to sleep.” Up to that point, Stan thought he would take this secret to the grave. He refused to look up and see Craig’s expression.

“Mar- uh, Stan. Look, man, I helped Tweek out when we were younger, you know this. I mean, underlying the caffeine addiction was real anxiety and paranoia and I learned a lot about this sort of thing while we were dating. But we broke up two years ago and you… I mean Tweek may have said shit about himself but he never hurt himself like this. I’m not about to just be the first person you tell all this too and then leave, okay, I can help you when you need it. But you need to see someone, like a professional. A therapist.” Stan nodded along at the words, and his breathing got heavier until Craig assured him that he wasn’t going to leave him alone.

“I don’t think I know how to even approach something like that,” he whispered. A part of him had hoped that now that someone knew that it would start going away, or that he wouldn’t have to do anything. It was a dumb thought, he knew this, but having to go forward with this and actively deal with it was daunting.

“I hate to say it but… you gotta talk to your parents man. Unless you’ve got money saved up, you’ll need help with payment and insurance shit. But I… I know where you can go for a therapist,” Craig said. Stan nodded and noted to remember to ask for this information later, but that was a secondary problem.

How was he going to approach his parents with this?

 

Craig left soon after, and Stan stared at the cup of orange juice and crackers the boy got for him for at least ten minutes. Care and concern were not characteristics most anyone would attribute to Craig Tucker, the one who scared even Cartman away.

 _‘He looked horrified when he realized you clawed your own skin open, freak. You’re such a lost cause that he pitied you.’_ Stan shook his head and wrapped his arms around his drawn-up legs. He hated thoughts like these and they happened more and more often. In lieu of responding to the awful comment, he picked up the orange juice and sleeve of saltines. Sparky perked up at the sound of the crackers.

“I’ll give you one if you promise to sleep here with me tonight,” Stan told him. It wasn’t likely to happen because Sparky preferred sleeping downstairs on the couch, but the dog seemed to agree with him anyhow. Stan gave him the first cracker.

 

“-honey, wake up, you have to go to school.” Stan blinked a few times as he woke up. It took him awhile to figure out what his mom meant by school, because when he had decided to take a nap it was only- oh, shit.

“Stan?” his mom checked. He hadn’t moved, and he realized that he couldn’t anyway. It’s not like he wanted to because there was ultimately no point in even trying, but it was unnerving when he felt his muscles lock up.

“Mom, I- I don’t feel good,” he admitted. It wasn’t the truth because he knew that she wasn’t taking it the way he meant. But he still heard her coo in sympathy.

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” She touched his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut because he really didn’t know how to say this.

“I-I- just…” he tried, but his voice cracked and his eyes started watering. His mom hummed.

“Oh, you must have a fever. You can stay home today. I’ll go pick up Kyle and Kenny, alright? I have the day off so if you need something just call for me, okay baby? I love you,” she said. She kissed his forehead and then went to his desk and picked up his keys. She told him that she would be back in thirty minutes and then she left.

_‘You’re such a pathetic fucking douchebag. You can’t even get up. This is why Wendy left you for Cartman, this is why Kyle and Kenny avoid you when you talk about getting drunk, and this is why nobody has ever asked about your fucking arms or why you only wear long-sleeve shirts in the spring. You’re a good-for-nothing loser-’_

“Stop, please stop,” he sobbed. He brought his hands up to his ears but he found it hard to stop the noise inside his own head. The paralysis from earlier concentrated on his lungs and chest and pumped in waves through his limbs. It was the same feeling of drowning in deep water and he couldn’t open his eyes.

He felt his bed move and a weight climb over him. Then there was a cold, wet item pressed to his cheek and it huffed. Sparky, it was Sparky. His dog laid down next to his body and licked and whined until Stan opened his eyes.

“Sp-Sparky,” he breathed. His hands shook but they touched his pet’s ears. Sparky surged forward and rested his head on Stan’s arm. Stan held Sparky’s head until he stopped shaking. His hand rubbed down Sparky’s head to the middle of his back and focused on the feeling of his fur.

He had only been awake for twenty minutes before he fell asleep again.

 

When Stan woke up again it was noon. Sparky snored softly. Stan looked at his phone; there were texts from both Kyle and Kenny. They mostly just wanted to know why his mom picked them up instead, and if he really felt sick. He sighed and sat up.

As he made his way downstairs he could hear his mom laughing at the TV. It was a Friday, so Grandpa was at the community rec center with the other old people complaining and playing cards. His dad was at work, hopefully, so he and his mom were the only (human) ones in the house. He didn’t know how to go about doing anything so he just sat down next to his mother and stared at the TV for a minute.

“Stanley, are you feeling any better? Did you take any medicine? If you're hungry I can-”

“Mom, I have to tell you something,” he blurted, not taking his eyes off the screen until he was met with silence. His mom looked concerned and he didn’t like it.

“What’s wrong Stanley?” He looked down at his hands, tugging at his sleeves. In the hours that he knew he had to tell her the truth, he had either been panicking or sleeping.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he whispered. This alarmed her, but she didn’t say anything. She rested a hand on his bicep to encourage him to keep going. He took a deep breath.

“Do you remember in the fourth grade, when I had that breakdown and you took me to the doctor? He said I had Asperger’s but now we know that was bullshit?” She nodded and he kept going. “Mom I never felt better. It changed and now it’s worse and I need help,” he pushed out.

“What do you mean, sweetie? Have you been feeling… what have you been feeling?” He tugged at his sleeves as he made the decision.

“I had to come home yesterday because I was freaking out so bad. I- Mom something keeps happening. It happens when I’m asleep and it happened yesterday when I had a panic attack. It’s been going on for months and I don’t realize I’m doing it but…” Stan rolled both his sleeves up to reveal the bandages on his arms. There were only a couple of spots that he had bled through. He picked at where the gauze ended and started to pull it back. His mom watched until he exposed both arms.

His arms went through almost a year of dull fingernails digging in and raking. When it first started in May of last year, it didn’t happen as often. Over the summer it only happened a handful of times. But football started up and then school, and then it happened more and more often. There were a few pink or silvery scars behind the ones that had been opened and reopened. They were red and angry and sensitive to touch.

“Stanley,” his mom breathed. “Oh my God. What… Stanley just how long exactly has this been going on?” she asked.

“A few days after Wendy broke up with me. I don’t know… it’s not still happening because I’m not over her, you know? I guess it’s just what finally… broke me, I guess.” _‘That’s right, loser, you’re broken.’_ He gulped. His mom couldn’t stop looking at his arms.

“Have you been thinking about hurting yourself intentionally? Or doing anything worse?” It sounded painful for her to say and he hated that. He shook his head because at least he could say that.

He told her that most of the time when he’s been sick in the past, at the very least since high school started, it had more to do with the fact that he couldn’t make himself get out of bed. He barely felt motivated for anything, even eating. Sometimes it was okay, like when he played football or when he was with his friends, but when he was alone with his thoughts he felt defenseless. She listened and he pretended not to notice that she was crying. He didn’t want this to happen.

He finished talking and waited for his mom to collect herself and her thoughts. He lightly ran over the raised skin on his forearms and wondered for the millionth time why he didn’t wake up as soon as his nail pressed into his skin. What kind of masochist was he?

“You need to go to therapy,” his mom said. She was quiet.

“I know.”

“We’ll find a place that takes our insurance, hopefully soon. This isn’t a situation that can be put away for later, I’ll talk to your father when he gets home. I, um, I appreciate that you told me about this, baby, and I love you so much. Why don’t you get something to eat from the kitchen, okay?” He nodded and got up from the couch. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter. He avoided looking at his mom as he went back upstairs.

He didn’t feel any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan confides in his friends.

Stan felt marginally better after spending his entire Friday in bed. The easiness of the upcoming weekend helped too, as did Sparky’s constant companionship. He tried to get back into a regular schedule of eating and even managed to do Thursday’s homework before Saturday, and a quick check-in with Kyle told him that there was nothing to do from Friday’s classes. For once he had no external pressures and that saved him to some degree. Unfortunately, it allowed the noise in his head to grow louder and harder to ignore.

He knew what depression was. He started to feel it when he was freshly ten years old, and he learned what to call it when he searched rather sad questions online. He found out over time the patterns and causes of particularly bad episodes. He researched it time and time again and learned to recognize all of his symptoms. He even learned a few phrases to say to himself when he felt really low and he couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel and managed to keep himself afloat until the depression loosened its grip on him. He did this all by himself for years and nobody ever knew how bad those Mopey, Cynical Stan days got.

But Stan had never been formally introduced to anxiety before. He didn’t know about this one.

While depression was a cold blue that drained him and made him slow, this new feeling was an electric yellow that sent shocks throughout his body and told him there was something to fear even when there wasn’t. With depression, he could take naps and drink water and even though he hated it sometimes physical activity helped and the sun warmed his skin when he took his dog for a walk. This “anxiety” stripped him of his ability to rest and also of his appetite, and physical activity came with the shaking and rocking back and forth. Anxiety drained him too but Stan couldn’t stop moving or thinking but sometimes he stopped breathing.

It would be so much easier to learn about his new unwanted friend if said friend would stop breathing down his neck for just a few minutes.

Tweek Tweak survived this. The external symptoms of Tweek’s anxiety matched the feelings underneath Stan’s skin. Tweek managed to go from actually vibrating to a guy with messy hair and the occasional tic. The blonde kid didn’t blurt out or scream about government conspiracies so much as he entertained them because he found them interesting. His verbal and physical tics even diminished considerably. Stan knew that part of this progress came from Craig’s assistance, which included threatening Tweek’s parents with severe bodily harm if they kept lacing the coffee with meth. Aside from the initial withdrawal, that was really when Tweek appeared to get better.

(And after a year of being better Tweek decided he didn’t need Craig anymore, as far as the rumors were concerned.)

Stan dealt with all of his internal bullshit on his own, and within two days confessed everything to two people. They saw his arms, and one of them even witnessed him in the middle of a panic attack. (He spent a while on Thursday finding information on that nonsense.) He surprised himself by opening up so easily, but it was more surprising when he reflected that neither of those two people were Kyle or Kenny.

He decided to change that Saturday afternoon.

“I’m going over to Kyle’s,” he murmured to his mom. Stan knew that his mom would have appreciated him telling her his whereabouts regardless, but knew that it would hold more importance now that she knew about his… problem.

“Okay Stanley, I love you,” she smiled. They were the same words as always but they felt different this time.

 

Kyle agreed to host an impromptu Best Friends Meeting with little questioning, as long as Stan stopped by Kenny’s to pick him up. Driving never stressed Stan out and he was happy to do it but dodged Kenny’s questions until the two of them were safely inside Kyle’s bedroom.

“You don’t seem, sick dude, were you just hungover yesterday?” Kyle asked. He wasn’t bothered by Stan’s habit of occasional drinking because he knew Stan kept it under control. A few of Stan’s “sick days” really were hangover days, but Kyle and Kenny didn’t know that those were caused by depression days first.

“Uh, no, actually. I mean, it felt like a hangover, kinda, but no.” Kenny snorted at his answer.

“What the fuck dude, if you did drugs without me we’re brawling,” he joked. Stan smiled a little at that.

“No, I didn’t drink, I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t do anything illegal,” he said, and they took his word for it. He wasn’t sure how to continue.

“Okay but if you were really sick then you wouldn’t be fidgeting right now so what’s up,” Kyle said. Stan realized that he was wringing his hands and he shoved them in his pockets. He knew that this was pretty much the moment where he had to speak up. He swallowed.

“You know how I disappeared at lunch on Thursday and didn’t come back?” They nodded. “I had felt really jittery all day and when lunch started I just ran outside. I tried to make it to my car but I literally just broke down as soon as the air outside hit me. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stand, and I just lost all my senses for like, five minutes before I was able to stop,” Stan said. It was a partial lie, but he didn’t feel the need to involve Craig. It would distract them.

“After I stopped freaking out I went to the car and sat there for a minute,” Stan paused, debating on if he should tell them about the part where he made himself bleed yet. “Once I felt like I was okay I just went home. Part of it was that I hadn’t eaten all day or had any water so I fixed that. And then I passed out, I think, and the next thing I knew my mom was shaking me awake because I was late for school.” He stopped for a moment to look up and at his friends’ faces. Kyle’s brand of concerned came across as wary, while Kenny’s appeared more invested. That seemed about right.

“Is that it?” Kenny asked. Stan saw Kyle shake his head.

“No, that’s not it. Keep going, Stan.” The noiret scratched at his forearm, where the skin under the bandaging grew hot.

“I was so shocked that it was already time for school again, and all of a sudden I felt paralyzed. I told my mom I wasn’t feeling well and she just accepted that I had a fever. After she left to pick you guys up I… I freaked out again. It was like some force was attacking me and I couldn’t see or breathe and I felt like shit. I didn’t stop until Sparky kind of made me. Then I passed out again for a few hours.” Stan looked at his arms, almost seeing the scratches underneath the long sleeves. He felt like showing them was the only way to get them to see that this was more than a weird episode of his normal cynicism. He didn’t like thinking that.

“What else, Stan.” Kenny’s voice was softer, because by this point he picked up on the fact that Stan was still hiding, and of course Kenny knew his friend needed the softness.

“And then I woke up and my mom was the only one in the house. So I went downstairs and told her. I told her everything. I showed her…” he trailed off. Both of his friends picked up on this.

“Showed her what?” Kyle asked. Stan decided to take off his shirt since he wanted to at least give them details that his mom didn’t know about. The white bandage pad on his chest stuck out to them first.

“When I had the first panic attack on Thursday I did this,” he said, gently pulling the coverage away so they could see the few scratches there.

“I didn’t know what I was doing. And then there are these, which I do in my sleep. I don’t know what happens in my sleep for me to do this but it’s been going on for a while.” He switched the gauze-wrap out for the gauze-pads the day before. They were easier to take on and off.

“Stan what the fuck is this. Are you serious right now?” Kyle grabbed his left arm and stared at the red, haphazard lines. “How long has this been going on? Some of these have finished scarring.”

“Since May of last year. It didn’t happen as often as it does now though,” he said. He felt Kenny’s hand on his shoulder. There was something rattling in his chest as he breathed.

“Since May? You mean when Wendy broke up with you?” Stan didn’t know if there was real accusation in Kyle’s voice or if the evil part of his brain placed it there. Stan squeezed his eyes shut and sat down, leaning against Kyle’s dresser. This wasn’t even bad, but something was flashing DANGER and it scared him.

“Yeah but I don’t care about that anymore so I don’t know why it keeps happening,” he insisted. _‘Your friends think you’re a loser now and all you had to do was keep your mouth shut. All this is happening because you refuse to keep your mouth shut.’_ Oh, not this again. He was getting tired of this real fast.

“Dude, it’s okay, we know you’re past that. We’re just shocked is all, and we’re trying to figure this out,” Kenny said, rubbing his back. Stan shook his head, he didn’t know how this was happening again. Why was this happening again? There were strange noises, high-pitched and irregular. Where were they coming from? Was it him? He felt like his senses were starting to leave him.

“Craig,” he rasped. “Kenny, call Craig. Please.” Kenny played on the baseball team with Craig, he had to have his number.

“Why do you wanna talk to Tucker?” Kyle asked. Stan made a whining noise in response, but he meant for it to come out as actual words. Kenny grabbed Stan’s hand and made it grip his phone. The sound of someone picking up reached Stan’s ears.

“McCormick, what do you fucking want?” Ah, yes, that was Craig.

“Help me,” Stan begged. “Please help me, I’m sorry!” There was some background noise on the other end.

“What?”

“Craig, Stan’s freaking out and said to call you, what’s going on?” Kenny jumped in. Stan heard some cursing and felt guilty.

“Okay, Marsh? Stan, are you listening?” Stan nodded, but Kenny answered verbally for him.

“Alright, Stan, you’re having another panic attack, but you’re going to be okay. Once you take some deep breaths things will start coming back. Kenny, make sure someone holds his hands.” Kyle gripped Stan’s left hand and yanked it from where it had been digging into the skin on his shoulder. Kenny slid the phone out of Stan’s grip and replaced it with his hand. Stan squeezed.

Craig continued to walk them through the process until the phantom squeezing Stan’s lungs left. It was like coming up for air after sinking to the bottom of a pool for several minutes, and then waiting for all of the water to calm back down. Eventually, Stan slumped against Kyle and murmured thanks to their (not really) friend on the phone. Kenny ended the call and sat next to Stan without letting go of his hand.

“Not to be dramatic or anything but I would rather fucking die than go through that again. That’s the third time in three days,” Stan said. He lifted his shoulder to wipe at the tears on his cheeks.

“Yeah that didn’t look like fun,” Kenny said, squeezing his hand. Stan squeezed back. The three of them slowly formed a loose-limbed pile on the floor, taking a moment to breathe.

“...Why did you ask to call Tucker?” Kyle asked. Stan shrugged, not seeing the point in keeping that part a secret anymore.

“He was actually the one who found me Thursday. He helped me calm down and he drove me home. I would’ve passed out if he didn’t show up, I think. Part of me still can’t believe it was him of all people,” Stan said. He felt Kyle nod against his arm.

It was quiet for a moment.

“So you have a crush on him, huh?” Kyle said. Stan scoffed.

“What? No, I don’t.” A moment later, “I do, yes, how did you know?”

“Dude you stare at him in English every day, and you switch between watching Kenny and him during baseball games.” Oh yeah, that was true, Stan did do that. He laughed. Out of his periphery, he saw Kenny lean up on his elbows to look at them.

“Wait, Stan’s bi? Is there anyone straight among us?” Stan and Kyle turned their heads to share a look, confused about the implications. Was this Kenny’s version of coming out? They knew their friend liked girls (he made this abundantly clear) but weren’t sure if there had been any signs in the past of an attraction to other genders. In the end, they agreed not to question it. It was Kenny, after all. Kyle looked at him.

“Dude! I’m straight. I’m dating Heidi?” Kenny flopped his wrist.

“Ugh, whatever. Kyle, you would be the only heterosexual. Typical.” The three of them laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pro tip: A healthy social life also helps with mental life.

Monday came faster than Stan would’ve liked. He could tell that it was stressful because he woke up with new blood stains on his sheets. 

“Fuck,” he cursed. He shuffled to the bathroom to clean his arms and replace the shredded pads before brushing his teeth. He thought about buying dark red or black sheets as he eyed his arms. 

He rubbed in a dab of ammonia onto the sheets as part of his morning routine. After ruining two sets of sheets he tried searching for ways to best get blood stains out before putting them in the washer, and so he hid a small body of ammonia in his nightstand. He hoped nobody ever saw the stuff he put in that drawer. When he went downstairs he made a quiet detour to the laundry room.

“Honey, here’s a little breakfast for the trip,” his mom said before he left the house, and handed him half of a grapefruit. He thanked her and shut the door behind him.

 

When Stan met up with Kyle and Kenny for lunch, his redheaded friend seemed nervous. Stan knew this had to be a relationship question because this was the only part of life that his best friend wasn’t completely confident in.

“What’s up, dude?” he asked as soon as he sat down. He reached into his bag and pulled out the standard brown paper bag that held his lunch. The first thing he touched, a rolled and folded version of his bag, he gave to Kenny who thanked him. (The McCormicks just didn’t make sandwiches like Mrs. Marsh could.) 

“Will you come to the mall with me today to find a gift for Heidi? I totally spaced this weekend because of the science project, and Valentine’s is Wednesday,” his friend rushed. Stan grinned and nodded, and was filled with platonic affection for his friend for how relieved he looked.

“Thanks, man,” Kyle said.

“I’m coming too,” Kenny said around the mushed food in his mouth. Years of listening to his voice muffled by an orange parka allowed his two best friends to hear him clearly.

“You wanna go right after school, or do you have a club meeting?” Stan asked him. Kyle belonged to a number of different clubs at school and both his best friends had a hard time keeping up with which ones and when they met. Kyle shook his head.

“Nah, I’m free to go then. Also, Tucker’s staring at you.” Stan whipped his head around to meet the cold eyes of one Craig Tucker. He sat with Token and Clyde, who seemed to be arguing about something. Craig didn’t look away when Stan met his stare. It went on for at least a full minute before Stan broke away and faced his table again.

That was the most action he’d gotten in a year.

“Dude I’m pretty sure that was flirting,” Kenny said, and Kyle snorted.

“Yeah, Tucker’s version of it.” Stan smiled at that, thanking them internally for trying to boost his confidence.

“Or he’s waiting for my next breakdown,” he mumbled. He startled when he heard his own words; it was the topic he had been unconsciously trying to avoid all day. There was a small cloud of fear looming over his head, worrying him about possibly having a panic attack in public. He took each minute with caution and the occasional deep breath.

“ _Or_ ,” Kenny pushed, “his gaydar has been pinging ever since he got close to you last week and he’s scouting you out as a potential lover. Don’t be so pessimistic!” Stan laughed at this, but Kyle looked intrigued.

“What do you know about gaydar, Kenny? How far does this secret part of your sexuality extend?” Kenny shrugged.

“I appreciate the guys who are really hot. Sometimes with my thoughts, sometimes physically. There are more pretty girls than good-looking guys so it doesn’t happen very often.” Stan nodded at this because he agreed. The guys around town didn’t really do it for him, save for the one he stared at in English every day.

“I blame that on why it took me so long to realize I was bi,” he said. The physical attraction he felt when he was younger just didn’t show up with guys as often as girls. There was always a pretty girl he could see.

“I thought it was because of Wendy?” Kyle asked. Stan shrugged.

“Maybe. When we were actually dating I didn’t even look at other _girls_. But there were plenty of times when we _weren’t_ dating that I looked.”

“I don’t know how anyone can still think she’s pretty when she has that ugly growth on her at all times. When is she gonna get that thing removed?” Kenny asked, and Stan and Kyle both knew he was referring to Cartman. After last spring Kenny officially cut ties with the guy, because Kenny took the Bro Code very seriously. At the time, Stan cried over his loyalty and refused to stop hugging him for hours. He also just needed someone to comfort him because of the break-up, but whatever.

The three of them spent the rest of lunch just talking about life, and it eased Stan’s mind the more his friends made him laugh. This was the stuff he needed on days when the heavy clouds hung too low in the sky.

 

Stan sat on the hood of his car while he waited for his friends to finish up their last class. His own last class, weight-lifting, was filled with his teammates and barely counted as a real credit. He still appreciated the mandatory aspect of working out and used all of his time well. Apparently, something about him was off. His coach, who “taught” the class, looked at him about halfway through the period and sneered.

“You sick Marsh? ‘Cause if ya are, I don’t want you touching the equipment. Go ahead and skip out.” Stan was not, in fact, sick, but took advantage of the easy out. It was nice to enjoy some quiet in an otherwise noisy place, especially when he was not supposed to be.

“Marsh.” Stan looked up from the game he was playing on his phone. It was Craig, walking towards him with his normal, casual style, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

“Oh, uh, hey dude.” Was there something about him that day that screamed, “I’m in distress”?

Craig walked to the other side of Stan and sat on the hood with him without saying anything. The two of them sat there for a minute and Stan’s mind almost imploded. What the hell was Craig doing? Were they friends now? Like, he _did_ say he wouldn’t abandon Stan after finding out about his problems but Stan thought that was just all talk. Was that real?

“You know when Kenny called on Saturday I realized that I hadn’t given you the information for that therapist’s office I mentioned. It took me a minute to find her card but, uh, here,” Craig said. While the voice itself seemed nasal and uninterested, it was a little softer than normal. He pulled a white business card out of his jacket pocket. The edges of the card had faded and become soft. One of the corners had a slight bend.

“Oh. Thanks, dude,” Stan said, and Craig nodded. They were back to silence, which made Stan feel fluttery and unsure.

“I told my mom. And the guys. They’re gonna help me. My mom said she was gonna talk to my dad because he’s the one with the insurance plan but my mom just said that she’s just gonna take care of everything and that we didn’t need to tell him about it,” Stan blurted, surprised at the confession. When his mom told him about the change in plans he just nodded because he understood. Why was it necessary to tell Craig?

“Why? I know your dad’s an idiot but he wouldn’t make a public spectacle of you, would he?” Stan snorted at the image Craig created in his head: Randy standing on the biggest display on a “Mental Health Awareness” parade. Yeah, that was possible. But Stan knew the real reason his mom kept Stan’s secret from her husband.

“Actually I think you’re going in the opposite direction. He’s not as PC-Progressive when it comes to his own family, or even beyond the obvious stuff,” Stan said and stared at his hands. “Or, my mom knows he’s a hypochondriac and if she’s dealing with me she doesn’t want to deal with dad threatening suicide every ten minutes.” Craig stiffened at that.

“Stan, you aren’t… are you?” Stan caught onto Craig’s thinking and shook his head.

“No, dude, I mean dad’s just really extreme with stuff. He acted like he was dying of cancer when he decided he was an alcoholic. Mom and I definitely couldn’t handle it if he decided he was severely depressed or something.” Stan wished either of these two things explained why his mom was keeping quiet.

The two of them sat there like that after Stan managed to clamp down on his word vomit. He tried focusing on the niceness of the moment in front of him instead of the memory that kept creeping up on him. It took more self-control than he had.

“Do you mind if we talk about you, for a second? I don’t want every conversation we have to be about my stupid problems. What are you interested in?” Stan said. If Craig was talking then Stan wouldn’t pay attention to anything else but the boy in front of him.

“I like stars and Stripes,” Craig said, and that confused Stan. Not once had he ever seen Craig give a shit about patriotism, what the hell was he talking about?

“What?” At this, Craig laughed.

“I like space and my guinea pigs, who all have stripes. I have three of them now,” Craig said. It seemed like the number of guinea pigs he had was important to him. (It absolutely was, they all remembered how Craig broke a desk into several pieces after the original Stripe died.)

“Do you have pictures of them?” This was the best question to ask any pet owner, Stan knew from experience. Half of the pictures on his phone were of Sparky.

“Of course!” Stan knew he did because Craig’s lock-screen was of the three guineas looking into the camera with hay in their mouths.

“The chocolate one with the white stripe is Ganymede, the cinnamon one with the black stripe is Io, they’re English shorthair, and the pretty lilac one is Callisto. The boys are older than her but she’s in charge. She’s also Peruvian, they’re the ones with long hair.” Stan blinked.

“I’m sorry, did you say Peruvian? As in, Peru?”

 

The mall trip felt like an extension of lunch in terms of energy. The three of them continued to talk casually about a myriad of topics while Stan helped Kyle look for a present. Sometimes Kenny suggested a gift, but it was normally something inappropriate because he thought Kyle’s reactions were great. Before they left, they sat at the food court and ate dinner. Kenny took pride in paying for his own meal with the money he earned as a busboy at City Wok.

Stan even smiled at his mom when he passed her on his way to his room. After he shut his door he started to take off his jacket but stopped as he saw something flutter as it fell to the ground. As he leaned down to pick it up, he realized it was the business card Craig gave to him. But on the other side was something written in blue ink.

 

_If you need a friend, I promised you I would be. :)_

_720-303-4231_

_-Craig_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review? Each comment is another piece of motivation to continue working on the story and is always much appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day!

_ Three Years Ago. _

_ Stan stood in the doorway that led to the garage and stared at his father as he worked on his latest stupid project. It had something to do with making curtains for birdhouses. Stan was almost fifteen and no longer cared about Randy Marsh’s attempts at filling whatever void he had inside him, but for some reason still cared about what the man had to say. _

_ “Dad? Can I ask you something?” Stan asked, looking down at his hands so he didn’t have to make eye contact with his father. There was an icy feeling that slithered up and down his limbs and settled heavy in his stomach.  _

_ “Sure, son! I’m just makin’ a lavender curtain with a cross-stitch for the Donovans,” his dad said. Stan imagined Clyde immediately and remembered the way he looked from behind as he got dressed in the locker room. Stan tried not to blush.  _

_ “Oh, cool. Um, Dad, what do you know about bisexuality?” The word left his mouth and it echoed in his mind. It was his first time saying it out loud. His dad’s sewing machine protested as Randy suddenly spazzed. Stan jumped and gulped. Had he already given himself away? He wasn’t even sure yet…  _

_ “What!? B-bisexual? That isn’t a real sexuality! People who say they are are just whores looking for any attention they can get,” Randy said, his eyebrows drawn and mouth in a hard frown.  _

_ “It’s… why do you say that?” There was an invisible force keeping Stan’s head from looking up and meeting his dad’s eyes. Something terrible was whispering words in the back of his mind.  _

_ His father yanked the fabric out of the jam it was in. “It’s one of those things you learn as you get older. Don’t associate yourself with people like that, Stanley.” Stan moved in jerkish movements as he nodded and turned around to leave.  _

_ He ignored the fact that his mom was in the kitchen and watching as he made his way upstairs, swiping at his cheeks.  _

  
  


Valentine’s Day arrived and Stan woke to a text from Kyle, asking if they could get to school early. Stan grinned at his best friend’s eagerness and rushed to get ready and leave. His mom basically threw the apple at him as he reached the front door. She told him to wish Kyle luck, and for Stan to not be too surprised when all the girls paid him extra attention. Stan rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. 

Kyle stood with Stan and Kenny by their lockers while he stared down the hall at Heidi’s locker. She hadn’t arrived yet. He had a small, wrapped box in his hands and Kenny had to keep reminding him not to crush it. 

“Dude, she’s already going out with you, stop freaking out,” Kenny berated, and Stan nodded in agreement. It was still twenty minutes before the morning bell rang so students stood and sat around in the hallways and outside. Stan hadn’t even bothered opening his own locker yet. 

“But what if she doesn’t like the gift?” Stan rolled his eyes. 

“She’s going to like the beanie, Kyle.” Kyle frowned at him. 

“How do you know that though?”

“Because I’m the one that picked it out.” Kyle paused before conceding. Stan’s secret superpower was finding gifts that people loved. Wendy had loved his one-year anniversary gift for her so much last year that he lost his virginity that night. Before Stan had time to delve into that mess of his past Kenny nudged the both of them and told them to look left. 

Heidi Turner walked down the hall with the same cheerfulness she normally exuded, greeting a friend here and there as she made her way to her locker. The girl was one of the shortest in their class and hadn’t lost all of the pudge she gained when she dated Cartman in elementary school, and her cheeks remained rosy and full. Kyle, a tall and lean basketball player, thought she was the cutest girl he had ever laid eyes on and melted when she smiled at him. 

“Dude it’s happening, it’s happening!” Kyle shoved at their shoulders, even though they knew and were looking at her just like he was. Stan thought his hand seemed a little sweaty. He hoped that perspiration didn’t transfer onto the gift wrap. The ginger boy slowly made his way to Heidi, being careful to not alert her to his presence while she opened her locker. 

The romantic in Stan couldn’t help but smile as Heidi opened her locker. Red, pink, and white origami hearts hung suspended by string taped to the ceiling of the locker, twirling slowly. There were 5 of them, each representing a month that the two of them had been together. There was a note taped to the inside of the door that said, “turn around.” She did, eyes wide and happily surprised. Kyle stood with a quiet smile on his blushing face. He handed her the box without saying anything and she took it. 

“Success!” Kenny murmured next to Stan when Heidi jumped up and wrapped herself around their best friend. She clutched the pink and green beanie in her hand, arms around Kyle’s neck. She kissed him hard enough that Kyle’s face looked a little smushed. Even Stan and Kenny were blushing and smiling. 

“We did a good job, huh?” Kenny said, and Stan looked at him. 

“You didn’t do a damn thing,” he replied. Kenny gave him one of his signature grins. 

“I bought him the condoms he’s gonna need tonight,” he said, and Stan burst into laughter as he turned to his locker to open it. Kenny leaned against his own locker, keeping an eye on the lovebirds. 

The moment Stan opened his locker he noticed something red and something white next to it. He realized it was a red rose attached to a sheet of notebook paper. He dropped his backpack to the floor and picked up the flower from the shelf it rested on. The notebook paper taped to it had been ripped out of a spiral notebook and still had the ridges on it. Stan thought it was cute, and smiled a small smile when he noticed the “For Stan” written with a blue pen. 

The note read:  _ Roses are red, violets are NOT blue, and I want to go out with you. Happy Valentine’s Day Stan. _

“Well, well, well! Who is trying to romance our dear Stanley?” Kenny peered over Stan’s shoulder and touched at the rose’s stem. 

“There’s no name on the note,” Stan said. There was something familiar about the writing but he couldn’t recall why. He looked at Kenny. 

“Did you do this?” His friend snorted. 

“Bold of you to assume that just because neither of us are straight that I would want to go out with you,” he joked, and the tips of Stan’s ears turned red. Kenny laughed at whatever expression he must have had on his face. 

“Come on, let’s go to history before those two suck each other’s faces off,” Kenny said. Stan nodded and carefully held the Valentine’s gift while he sorted out his belongings in his locker. The two of them left and only laughed quietly when they glimpsed Heidi squeezing Kyle’s ass. 

 

Stan reached the football field quickly after the last bell of the day rang. His mind buzzed with unpleasant thoughts and he knew he needed his weekly run. On Wednesdays, Kyle had basketball practice and Kenny liked to walk to Karen’s middle school so he could walk home with her. Football season was over and conditioning didn’t start until later in the spring, but sometimes all Stan needed to do was run a few laps around the track. The cold February air didn’t feel great in his throat after a while but every athlete in South Park was used to it. 

He ran into the curve halfway through the sixth lap when he saw the tall figure at the front gate. It didn’t take longer than a second to recognize Craig walking in and sitting next to Stan’s belongings. Stan ran a little faster to finish the lap, filing away the final count of a mile and a half for the day. 

“What are you doing here?” Stan breathed, reaching into his backpack to get the blue Gatorade. He rubbed the bottle a little first because as much as he liked his drinks cold, they didn’t need to be South-Park cold while he was already experiencing it. He didn’t want to sit down on the icy bleachers but he did anyway. 

“McCormick said that you liked to run on Wednesdays. I figured I could show up before you finished and convince you to give me a ride home,” Craig punctuated his sentence with a shrug. Stan smiled behind his drink. As if Craig had to do more than stand next to his car to convince him. 

“I guess I can do that. It’s not exactly out of my way.” Pretty much every middle-class family lived in the same suburban neighborhood, a kid could walk to any classmate’s house in minutes. 

“Thanks, man. I was hoping you would be charitable, given that it’s Valentine’s and all,” Craig said as he leaned against the bleacher row behind him. Stan was surprised that Craig would bring it up because it didn’t sound very teasing. 

“Valentine’s doesn’t really matter if you’re single. It’s just a day with a lot of pinks and reds and chocolate,” Stan replied. He wasn’t upset or bitter about it. When Stan was single he carried on with the day like he would any other, and when he dated Wendy he was just extra romantic for twenty-four hours. Either way, it didn’t require much effort from him. 

“I thought the quarterback would get a bunch of little cards,” Craig grinned, and Stan shoved his shoulder, unable to keep from smiling back. 

“Technically, no cards. I got a rose and a note though, I found them in my locker this morning. I’m keeping the rose in there, but the note’s in a folder,” he said, nodding to his backpack and frowning. 

“You don’t sound very enthused. Who was it from?” The more questions Craig asked the more Stan felt a sense of painful false-hope. He wished the questions came from a sense of romantic interest, instead of the “this kid needs psychiatric help” sense that he knew it actually came from. 

“They didn’t say, so I don’t know. Honestly the more I think about it, the more I realize that it can only be one of two things. Either someone can see how pathetic and lonely I am and pitied me, or someone decided to do it as a joke. And if it’s one of those options then I don’t see the point in fixating on it. It’s over now anyway.” Stan actually had fixated on it all day, and when he thought about how someone was probably laughing at him he had to go to the bathroom to calm himself down and keep from crying. 

“Look I know you’re on the depression train right now but from an outsider’s perspective? You’re  _ the _ most eligible bachelor of South Park High. Whoever gave you that rose and wrote you that note probably  _ does _ want to go out with you.” Craig stopped talking abruptly and then opened his mouth to keep talking, only to stay silent. Stan figured he ran out of encouraging things to say. 

He gave Craig a small smile and patted his shoulder. “You don’t have to make me feel better dude, how about we just go home before we freeze our asses off?”

Craig looked like he wanted to say more, but just nodded and stood up when Stan did. They didn’t talk as they walked to the car lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Craig is trying very hard to show that he's interested in Stan and our Poor Depressed Boy can't see it. 
> 
> The flashback is kind of out of place and not really addressed, but we'll pretend that it's Stan's dream the morning of. 
> 
> Please review!!!!!!
> 
> Also! I have a tumblr (rosesandwriting) that you are welcome to visit and chat with me! I'm relatively new to the fandom part of SP and would love to make friends.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!

Stan sat in a chair next to his mother in the waiting room. He left school early to go home just to get right in his mom’s car and drive to the psychologist’s office in the closest town outside of South Park. (No one in South Park had the sanity to help the rest of the townspeople.) The office was located on the third floor of the older brick building and sat between other mental health offices. 

Leaned over, Stan stared at the floor and rested his elbows just above his knees, his left leg bouncing with nervous energy. He didn’t know why he felt as jittery as he did, and he didn’t like the fluid waves of electricity that ebbed back and forth down his limbs and chest and stomach. There was nothing to be afraid of but according to his body, there was. 

“Do you want some water, sweetie?” Sharon whispered to her son. He kept boring a hole into the floor for a few seconds before the words registered in his head. He nodded because he knew that it would give him a physical task his body could focus on. She grabbed a bottle out of her hand and handed it to his shaky hands. He murmured a thanks and unscrewed the cap. He felt her gaze on him as he drank. 

“What are you so nervous about?” she asked. He hated that she was concerned. 

“I have no idea,” he confessed and gave her a sorry smile. She ran her fingers through his hair and then rested her hand on his shoulder for a minute. She didn’t say anything, just squeezed and let go. It made him feel a little better. 

The most he knew about his potential therapist so far was her name:  _ Catherine Victoria _ . It sounded familiar, and he figured that it was because of her British-Queen-sounding name. Stan took her business card out of his jacket, the one that he shoved into his pocket as he left. For two weeks it was on the kitchen counter by the landline phone that they still had for some reason. Stan gave it to his mom the same day Craig gave it to him after Stan saved his number. The black lettering on the card faded even more as Stan pressed his fingers down over their texture.

He turned the card over and froze. 

Blue ink. Craig used blue ink. That fucking note in his locker was written in blue ink. What the  _ fuck _ . Wait, did this mean- 

“-Marsh?” Stan snapped his head up and looked at the face of his new therapist, only to be met with another surprise, one that forced all other thoughts from his mind. 

Catherine Victoria was  _ Principal Victoria _ . He stared and only moved as prompted by his mother. She wasn’t surprised, of course she wasn’t, because she probably recognized the name from the beginning and probably conversed with her on the phone when making the appointment. Was this his life?

“Hello, Stan, I know it’s been a while,” Principal Victoria greeted wearing a warm smile. She sat on the office chair opposite the couch that Stan and his mom occupied. 

“Seven years,” Stan agreed, doing the quick math in his head. Had it only been that long?

“Yeah, long enough for me to get a master’s in counseling. How have you been, Stan?” He looked at the books on the lowest shelf of her bookcase. 

“Not well,” he muttered. Even though it was easier than before, it was still hard to admit. 

“I see. You know you can tell me why you’re not doing well, it’s what I’m trained for after all.” Her northern accent slipped into her voice, and it was a weird shock from the past. He opened his mouth to speak because he had been waiting for this and he  _ knew _ what he needed to say, but nothing came out. He looked at his mom, who understood what he wanted. 

“Stan’s been struggling,” his mom started. “I didn’t notice for the longest time but in hindsight, the truth was there. If he’s not at football or with his friends he’ up in his room and never makes a sound. When I’m home in the afternoons and I check in he’s sleeping, and he goes right back upstairs after dinner. When no one’s around he looks so withdrawn- I always thought that was just him thinking or imagining things but… well, I guess not. It started in elementary school and it’s only grown since there,” Sharon detailed, the rims around her eyes red. She wiped at her eyes with one hand and squeezed his shoulder with the other. Stan made his mom  _ cry _ ,  _ again _ . 

“Stan? What’s been going on?” This time he couldn’t ask his mom to answer for him, so he sucked in a deep breath. 

“I don’t feel okay, and for almost a year it’s been getting worse. I knew what was wrong with me before, okay? I couldn’t trust anyone so I looked it all up myself. I took a lot of tests online, they all said the same thing. I’m depressed. The symptoms fit: I don’t have the energy to do anything, I feel blah or empty or sad almost every day, everything feels wrong. But now I’m anxious too, and I stayed up until three last night taking tests on  _ that _ . I feel shaky and worried and scared. I don’t even know how I can be exhausted and scared at the same time!

“I used to be able to handle it by myself. Every website says the same thing about diets and exercise and breathing. But now I’m anxious and I have panic attacks and when I sleep I have dreams that I don’t remember. There has to be some dream that I’m having because I scratch my arms so bad that I bleed and it happens all the time. I can’t keep washing my sheets three days a week, and I can’t keep buying new ones!”

Both his mom and Principal Victoria seemed shocked by that outburst, but his former principal was quicker to recover. 

“I believe you, Stan. A lot of people are able to figure out on their own what’s hurting them, and I don’t doubt your ability to do so objectively. If you continue to see me then I can help you learn how to cope and how to address problematic thoughts and behaviors so that you can feel better. Does that sound like something you want to do?”

Her words hit him square in the chest and the muscles beneath tightened. She said exactly what he wanted to hear, and it sounded like she  _ cared _ . 

Stan nodded and it felt like the room itself released a deep breath. 

  
  


Sparky curled up on Stan’s bed and rested his head on the pillow. His eyes watched as Stan paced his room. In one hand the teen held a business card and in the other his cell phone. The teen mumbled to himself as he tried to reason his way through an internal conflict. Knowing that Stan would either figure it out or give up, for the time being, the dog nuzzled into the soft pillow and stretched his front legs. As much as the couch downstairs felt like his, he knew  _ this _ was the height of luxury. 

Stand and Sparky both jumped as they heard a knock on the bedroom door. A jolt of fear went through Stan’s chest at the idea of his dad talking to him at the moment. Now was absolutely  _ not _ the time. But then his mom softly said his name, so he let her in. 

“Hey, Stanley. Are you doing okay?” Stan debated his options for answering. In general, no, he was not okay. At the moment, it was about 50/50. She stood in the doorway and he stood like a moron in the middle of his room. 

“...Mom do you  _ know _ ?” Those were not the words he expected to come out of his mouth, but there they were. He guessed that it was time to let the other shoe drop, or at least acknowledge it. He swallowed. 

“Stan?” She was giving him an out, but he didn’t want one. He needed to talk to his mom. He needed his mom  _ period _ . 

“Do you remember right before I started high school? You were in the kitchen when I asked dad about it- being bisexual. Do you  _ know _ ?” he pressed because he wouldn’t keep talking until she confirmed it. She sighed and nodded. She walked further into the room and closed the door behind her. That made him feel easier so he sat in his desk chair, and she sat on his desk because she knew he wouldn’t mind. 

“I know Stan. At first, I was confused why you reacted the way you did because you never  _ seemed _ to be interested in anyone other than Wendy. I think part of me just didn’t want to think that one of my kids struggled with their own sexuality. But yes, I know. Is there… is there someone giving you a hard time about this?” He shook his head. 

“Do you remember Craig Tucker?” His mom nodded. He took a deep breath and showed her the back of the business card. 

“Craig’s the one who’s been helping me lately. He’s been really nice to me, and I’ve had a crush on him for a long time. And I figured I would never have a shot, but on Valentine’s Day I found this in my locker…” he trailed off, reaching into his backpack to search for the note. The top of it stuck out because he pulled it out earlier to compare the handwriting. He showed it to his mom and put the card right next to it. 

“Honey they match! This is good news why aren’t you happy?” He pushed the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and looked at his forearms. 

“I think he’s pitying me. He didn’t put his name on the note and he hasn’t made a move. But it doesn’t matter if he is or not because it’s a bad idea to date him anyway.” His mom scooted closer and put a hand under his chin to make him look at her. 

“Stanley, what are you  _ talking _ about?” He sighed. 

“He dated Tweek for so long and that kid wasn’t always okay, ya know? And, I mean, Tweek is like  _ really _ pretty and he’s doing really well now that he isn’t addicted to anything, but Craig was hurt really bad when they broke up. I remember Tweek saying it was mutual but… I know what it feels like to feel that bad so it’s easier to see in others. Craig did so much for him! I know I’m not making sense but what if he helps me, and then I feel better, and then I break his heart too? What if the part of me that likes him… likes him because he could help me?”

His mom was quiet for several seconds after he finished. It would have been a problem for Stan but for once he wasn’t burdened with racing thoughts because they were finally out. His mom was processing them, and until she figured out what to say he could just sit in silence. Well, he did, until a heavy thud resonated from downstairs. Sparky jumped out of his slumber on Stan’s bed. His mom wasn’t phased. 

“You,” she said, and paused, “are right. It wouldn’t be fair if you only dated him because he could help you. But I don’t think that’s why you’re attracted to him. I have to go lecture your father for whatever it is he just did, but before I go, here’s this: think about why you like Craig. What is it about him that might make someone like him? I think your answer will tell you what you should do.” With that, she scratched his head and leaned down to kiss his forehead. 

“Goodnight Stan, I love you,” she said, and then she left. For the few seconds that his bedroom door remained open, they could both hear Randy’s frantic cursing. The two of them simultaneously pinched the bridges of their noses and muttered under their breath. 

Stan looked at his dog, smiling as he saw how snuggly Sparky looked on his bed. Maybe tonight would be better than others. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, like we didn't already know it was Craig who wrote Stan the note, like come on. But you know, low self-esteem makes you think bad things. 
> 
> Please leave a comment!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Craig talk in this one.

Chapter 8. 

 

Stan woke up to Sparky licking his face because his alarm had started ringing several minutes ago. He groaned but still showed his dog some affection as he reached for his phone. Another Tuesday, another day of school, and Stan didn’t want anything to do with it. But he had responsibilities and he wasn’t going to disappoint anybody more than he probably did. 

He drove to Kenny’s house with Kyle already in the passenger seat. He drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel as he waited for a light to turn green. Kyle was already working on that day’s homework because he knew he wouldn’t have the time for it later on. He hadn’t bothered asking about the  _ ‘gotta talk tomorrow’ _ text Stan sent into the group chat because the oldest always thought it was better to save his breath and only talk when the three of them were together. 

The noiret pulled up to the curb outside Kenny’s house. The place looked better than it did when they were kids because the McCormick’s worked to use the SoDoSoPa ruins to improve the place. The effort seemed to put a lot of them back on track because Stuart and Carol finally got jobs and Kevin stopped being threatened with juvenile hall. 

“Okay, Stanny boy, what’s the news?” Kenny chirped as he jumped into the car. Stan stared at him in the rearview mirror until the accident-prone boy put on his seatbelt, and then released the brake pedal. 

“Craig wrote the Valentine’s note,” he said, and immediately got responses from both of his friends. 

“He did!?”

“I FUCKING KNEW IT! HA!” Stan and Kenny both glanced at the  _ overenthusiastic _ Kenny before Stan spoke again. 

“Same handwriting on the business card he gave me and the note. So he might like me.” Kyle scoffed and Kenny groaned painfully. 

“Uh, Stan, the note literally said that he wanted to go out with you,” Kyle said, talking like he would to a distressed animal. 

“But he didn’t  _ sign it _ , and then he didn’t  _ own up to it _ , so he could just be trying to make me feel better,” Stan countered. From the backseat, Kenny continued to groan like something had stabbed him, so Stan checked his rearview again just to make sure that wasn’t the case. No, the bastard was just making fun of him. 

“Okay, we’re not going into this argument. The only way for us to know what Craig’s intentions were is to ask him. You have to talk to him, dude. Either you do that or we sneak into your room while you’re out and steal all the alcohol in your house. Your choice,” Kyle said, and they heard Kenny mutter, “oh shit” under his breath. The ginger really wasn’t joking. 

“...Fine,” Stan relented. Kyle smirked at him, and then resumed working on his homework. Kenny took out his phone and made the occasional noise. 

 

For the first time since he had Craig’s number, Stan texted him. It was right after lunch ended that he sent it because he didn’t want the guy to talk to him until after school. When he shared that with Kyle and Kenny, Kyle looked fed up with his bullshit and Kenny laughed at him. Despite their name-calling, he stuck with his plan and asked the boy to meet up with him at Stark’s Pond shortly after school to talk. He refused to look at his phone until his last class finished. 

Craig agreed with no questions asked, something that was unheard of back in elementary school. There wasn’t even a negotiation on the time. Stan appreciated how much the guy was willing to help him out even if it meant that Craig wasn’t actually into him (which he knew was the more-likely scenario). It put a small smile on Stan’s face as he drove to Stark’s Pond, reminding himself to be grateful for everybody who was concerned about him. 

The reminder he gave himself soon turned into chastising, however. He shouldn’t be the reason for this concern, he shouldn’t involve the people he cared about in his sad and nervous thoughts. It made things worse when he pointed this out to Kyle or Kenny or his mom because they were so good at convincing him otherwise. But over and over again the truth came back to him and attacked his mind like a battery ram until he accepted it. And then the rest of the thoughts came, the ones that hacked even deeper at his self-esteem. 

At this point in the day, Stan was sitting at the edge of the pond, arms wrapped around his drawn-up legs and pressing his face into his knees. He was willing himself not to cry but when he squeezed his eyes shut a few tears slipped out anyway. He gripped his legs harder and pressed his face closer in a way to control his body. He bent his arms at the elbows and slid his hands into his hair and pulled. 

He tensed and stilled even further when two arms wrapped around his torso and a body of heat joined his left side. A hand a little bit larger than his slipped into his hair and brought his head to a place just between their shoulder and their chest. 

“It’s okay, Stan, it’s okay,” someone murmured into his hair. It was the same voice he heard when he had his panic attack outside of the school. Stan truthfully didn’t even need to guess at the voice, because it could only be Craig. No one would have shown up, no one else would have immediately comforted Stan like they already knew exactly what was happening. 

“I hate myself, I do, I hate myself so much,” Stan sobbed. He said it because it was the truth. When he felt his worst there were running thoughts of self-loathing, often only alleviated by falling asleep. Despite these words, Craig never let go, and he only started saying things that managed to soothe Stan over a few minutes. When Stan had only reduced to sniffling and wiping away the final tears on his cheeks, Craig still held him, the hand that once was in his hair then rubbing circles up and down his arm and back. 

Finally, Stan pulled away and sat up. He fixed his posture to ease the ache in his back and relaxed his legs. His throat was dry and uncomfortable. Craig let his hand remain on Stan’s back, and rubbed a part of his spine with his thumb. It wasn’t awkward or weird, it was just quiet. 

“I guess I shouldn’t ask how you’re feeling,” the taller boy mumbled. Stan snorted, though the sound was more exaggerated from the unfortunate wetness in his nose. 

“Today was actually going well until I sat still and started thinking,” he confessed. “I don’t think anything good ever comes from me sitting by myself in quiet.” Craig nodded like he understood and could sympathize. 

“Maybe I should’ve come earlier then,” he replied. And then Stan remembered why he asked Craig to come in the first place. 

“It certainly would have made this a lot less awkward for me,” he said. How could he bring this up now? At least he still had the scenery of the pond to help. When he lifted his gaze to look at Craig, he found that the other boy was already looking at him. They smiled at each other. 

“Did you not want to talk about all this?” Craig asked, gesturing with his pointer finger at Stan’s face and body. Stan knew what he meant. 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this.” Stan twisted to reach for his backpack and reached for the open pocket where his folder already stuck out. He pulled it and carefully opened it in order to prevent anything loose from dropping. First, he handed Craig the business card with the blue ink facing up. He paused and then handed him the note as well. Craig stared at the note and didn’t move, didn’t dare look up at the football player. 

“Is your favorite color blue?” Stan asked. Craig nodded. 

“Mine was red before spring last year. But I think I like blue more now, too,” Stan said, and then gestured to the paper, “I figured it out yesterday. I just want to know why you did it.” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Craig asked, finally looking at Stan. 

“I talked to Kenny and Kyle about it. I think your obvious and my obvious could be separate ideas,” he said. “What I said on Valentine’s Day still makes the most sense to me. Do you pity me?” At this, Craig’s eyes widened. 

“ _ No _ ,” he asserted, “I don’t  _ pity _ you, Stan, I  _ like _ you. I didn’t sign my name on the note because… well because I’m gay and you’re straight. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want you to know.” Craig thumbed at the note and the card before handing them back. Stan tucked them both gently back into the folder, and the folder gently into his backpack. 

“The summer between middle school and high school changed things for me. Do you remember when all of us got together to play football? We decided on shirts versus skins. Towards the end I ended up with the ball smashing into my face,” Stan said. Craig nodded. 

“Your nose started to bleed but you kept playing anyway. There was blood on the ground for weeks and Officer Barbrady tried to convince the town that someone got murdered.” Stan laughed at the detail he hadn’t thought about. 

“Yeah, well, the reason I got slammed was that I wasn’t paying attention. I was staring at your chest. And Token’s. And Clyde’s. And then all of a sudden my ass was on the ground, my nose was bleeding, and my eyes started to sting. And I realized that other straight guys didn’t look at their friends the way I did. Straight guys would have stared at Wendy, Bebe, and Red in their tank tops. I mean, don’t get me wrong I  _ definitely _ stared at Wendy, but… fuck, man, I’m bi. I am a bisexual person. I like girls and boys and I really,  _ really _ like you,” Stan gushed. 

He looked up at Craig whose jaw had dropped a little in shock. Stan tried to memorize his face in case the boy turned out to be biphobic too. Damn, that would really suck. 

“You like me?” Craig whispered, and Stan nodded. 

“But if you’re… I thought that if you… why aren’t you out?” Stan shrugged. 

“My dad’s biphobic, and so are a lot of people, even others who aren’t straight. And football culture is totally homophobic and I didn’t want the team to turn on me. Also, I struggle with depression so I figured that it would just be another excuse for people to hate me,” he finished. The last part was half joking and Craig smiled. 

“What about now?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Comment below, please!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig's point of view of the last chapter.

 

 

Craig mostly hated school. He didn’t like the teachers or the material that most of them taught, he hated the dramatic and immature kids in the hallways and in his classes, and he hated having to wake up earlier than his biological clock wanted in order to deal with it. That isn’t to say that he hated  _ all _ of it, or that he only hated what he did because he wasn’t successful because that wasn’t true. He liked physics for its teacher and the content and his friends that only mildly annoyed him. He enjoyed baseball and how easy it was to understand and play, and his teammates agreed that he wasn’t the worst asshole when they practiced or played games. Those things he enjoyed, the rest of it could suck on his middle fingers. 

Except for Stan Marsh, of course, because that guy was damn  _ gorgeous _ and defied all the annoying stereotypes. He wasn’t the dumb jock that bullied nerds and fucked all the cheerleaders. No, Stan Marsh The Quarterback smiled at everyone whether they deserved it or not and ranked in the top ten percent of the class. No rumors existed of him fucking  _ anyone _ other than Wendy Testaburger, but at least one rumor said that he punched one of the seniors in his face for groping a girl at a party. A picture of him in freshman year showed him volunteering at the closest humane center and giving animals baths. According to most of the student population, Stan Marsh was the perfect golden child of South Park. 

But over the last several weeks Craig has found that Stan didn’t see gold anywhere near himself. The star child never defended himself from accusatory teachers that tried to regularly demean his intelligence. He never initiated any social interaction outside of Kyle Broflovski or Kenny McCormick. He kept dark secrets from the few people he was close to in order to protect their feelings, even though he was practically putting himself in danger. Stan Marsh was depressed and anxious and suffered silently until he no longer could. 

Craig knew about those two demons, just not to the extent that Stan did. He saw Tweek’s anxiety regularly and closely, and in order to help the blond boy, he researched everything he could find on the internet. Even once the meth-laced coffee disappeared Tweek still struggled, but Craig held him close through all of it. Craig knew about depression because of his own dysthymia that began in middle school. It got worse after Tweek ended things with him, but now he copes by daydreaming about a certain football player. Therapy and antidepressants also helped. 

“It’s amazing that the rest of the student population doesn’t know about your crush on Stan, man,” Token said. The words forced Craig to take his focused eyes off of the quarterback, and he frowned at his friend. 

“I think it’s sweet. Besides, honey, you know that people pay too much attention to themselves to know how other people feel,” Nichole responded. She took one of Token’s french fries and popped it in her mouth with a smile. Her boyfriend, the absolute sap, smiled back like he wouldn’t have crushed Clyde’s hand for doing the same thing. 

“Not always. Craig here s-stares at S-Stan so much, he pro-bably knows if he has a headache the moment he gets one,” Jimmy joked. Clyde, who Craig didn’t think had been paying attention, actually laughed. 

“I don’t like any of you,” Craig stated. Token and Nichole giggled to each other like the lovesick teen couple they were. Clyde’s head shot up. 

“Really!? So you wouldn’t mind if I left to sit with Bebe then,” he said, already standing up and gathering his things. He was off before anyone could correct him. 

Token and Craig looked at each other and pressed their fingers to their noses. Jimmy put several fingers to his nose, and Nichole was too late to notice. She sighed and gathered her things as well. 

“Traitors. Alright, I’ll go. One of these days Bebe and Red better stop fooling around and commit to each other, because I am tired of this boy’s attempts,” the girl grumbled. Jimmy felt bad and accompanied her to the lunch table twenty feet from theirs, hoping to cheer her and the other girls up with some new jokes. It left Craig alone to deal with his smartest friend, unfortunately. 

“Maybe you should tell him that you’re the one who wrote the note,” Token said, not for the first time. He didn’t look his friend in the eyes as he said it, instead dragging a french fry through ketchup. 

“He’s going through something right now, he doesn’t need a gay guy coming on to him,” Craig responded. It was unfortunate that as he was surrounded by almost all straight dudes that he was bound to develop a crush on one of them. Of course it had to be the most unattainable one. 

“Don’t say it like that. You know he wouldn’t freak out, he’d probably be flattered. Personally, I think if you played the game well enough he might even like you back. I doubt his heterosexuality is all that firm. Just give him the ol’ razzle-dazzle,” the purple-clad boy insisted. Craig rolled his eyes. 

“I doubt that’s how it would work. Besides, he didn’t even like the note. He thought someone did it as a joke or out of pity. He has like, really bad self-esteem problems,” he mumbled. He had only mentioned his interactions with Stan to Token because he knew his friend would keep the information confidential. 

“I  _ know _ he does. He’s  _ had _ these problems for years. Remember last year when the chemistry teacher accused him and Kyle of cheating? Kyle reported the teacher to the principal and gave her a lecture on prejudice and due process, but Stan wasn’t there. I saw him crying in his car. I didn’t say anything, you know, because it’s not cool to draw attention to someone when they’re crying. But I bet you anything that it was because he was tired of his teachers assuming he was too stupid to do well in any of his classes.” 

Craig vaguely remembered that. He remembered more the way Stan answered their English teacher this year with sad resignation. Once a week that bitch called on him to answer a question with the assumption he wouldn’t be able to answer. Not once has he given her any reason to believe he didn’t read or understand what was going on. Craig had resorted to taking her pens when she wasn’t looking, one for each question she asked his crush. 

“Stan’s miserable, Token,” Craig sighed, “but I don’t want a repeat of what happened with Tweek.” 

Token stared at his friend. Only he, Clyde, Jimmy, and Craig’s dad knew how upset Craig had been after the break-up. The dude already dealt with the persistent mild depression, but for half of freshman year, the guy couldn’t even laugh. It took extra therapy and a lot of intervention on his dad’s part to help him. Though Thomas Tucker was uncomfortable at first with his son’s sexuality, the father devoted a lot of energy into making sure his son was happy. Token knew that mission wasn’t easy. 

“Stan wouldn’t do that, Craig, if he liked you. If anything, I think you two could become great friends, if not something more. I just think you should try.” 

 

Craig responded immediately to Stan’s text, which read,  _ ‘Can we meet at Stark’s Pond @ 4? Please.’ _ He agreed without first thinking about what he might be forgetting to do after school. He didn’t have anything scheduled but would have skipped everything anyway if he did. Hell, it was winter in the fucking mountains of Colorado and he walked from the high school to the frozen pond without complaint.

He checked his phone to see the time- just a few minutes after the hour- as the car Stan drove came into sight. Despite the wind chill chapping his cheeks and pushing against him, he still walked faster in order to reach Stan. His heart started beating faster upon seeing the head of jet-black hair, and he fought down an excited smile. 

Unfortunately, he also noticed the way that Stan’s posture indicated something worse than someone trying to fight against the cold. The shivering could have been from the cold, though Craig remembered too much how Stan looked as if he was falling apart that Thursday and this looked almost the same. He continued to rush forward and didn’t so much mindfully sit down next to Stan as much as he collapsed. Craig wrapped his arms around the other boy, murmured in his ears the words that naturally came flowing from his mouth. 

“I hate myself, I do, I hate myself so much.” Craig grimaced at hearing this. It didn’t surprise him because sometimes misery was like a virus that loved company enough to make somebody think that. He continued to whisper soothing words into Stan’s ear, even after his breathing began to slow and the tears stopped falling. Stan sat up and pulled away, but Craig wanted to keep contact until Stan pushed him away. 

Stan was an inch shorter than Craig but he was still the bigger guy. Football required more bulk than baseball, and if asked most people wouldn’t be able to say definitively who was taller anyway. In terms of presence and popularity, Stan also won. Stan gave a shit about other people but in high school, people perceived it as giving a shit about what others think. (He does care because anxiety makes people care.)

“I guess I shouldn’t ask how you’re feeling,” Craig mumbled. He meant it as something akin to a joke, something to cut at the tension. Stan snorted. 

“Today was actually going well until I sat still and started thinking. I don’t think anything good ever comes from me sitting by myself in quiet,” Stan said, and Craig believed it. How long had he been sitting alone out here anyway?

“Maybe I should’ve come earlier then,” he replied. He was a baseball player, he knew how to run, he  _ should’ve  _ run. 

“It certainly would have made this a lot less awkward for me.” The cold from the snow around them crept up Craig’s spine and hacked at his heart. Did Stan know? Was this the moment he cut Craig off? Stan needed to understand that Craig was totally fine with only friendship, and wouldn’t jeopardize it. When Stan looked up Craig smiled at him, and Stan smiled back. The ice forming around his heart held back. 

“Did you not want to talk about all this?” Craig asked, gesturing between them. It was better to play dumb, expect to only talk about Stan’s issues. It was what Craig signed up for anyway. 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this.” And then Stan did what Craig was afraid of, he pulled out the evidence. Craig knew what was on the papers but he stared at it anyway because he didn’t want to see Stan’s face.  _ Fuck _ , why had he used the same pen?  _ Why did he only have blue pens? _

“Is your favorite color blue?” Stan asked. Craig nodded, not understanding the soft tone the other boy used, or why he would ask that question of all the ones he could’ve asked. 

“Mine was red before spring last year. But I think I like blue more now, too… I figured it out yesterday. I just want to know why you did it.” Why he did it? Leave it to Stan Marsh to sound like an adult interrogating a naughty child. And what the fuck did colors have anything to do with this?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Craig asked, finally looking at Stan and trying to keep an edge out of his voice. It was weird to see such a strong male figure blush. It was sad to see him look defeated, with red puffy circles around his eyes and dried tear tracks on his cheeks. 

“I talked to Kenny and Kyle about it. I think your obvious and my obvious could be separate ideas,” he said. “What I said on Valentine’s Day still makes the most sense to me. Do you pity me?”  _ What!? _ Stan still thought that? Shit, if Stan remembered their conversation that day then he should know that Craig was telling the truth. 

“ _ No _ ,” Craig asserted, “I don’t  _ pity _ you, Stan, I  _ like _ you. I didn’t sign my name on the note because… well because I’m gay and you’re straight. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want you to know.” His attempt to get closure, to feel like he put himself out there without actually putting himself out there had really backfired on him. He handed the documents back to Stan, who put special care into putting them in his bag safely. Craig felt like his brain would explode from mixed signals. 

“The summer between middle school and high school changed things for me. Do you remember when all of us got together to play football? We decided on shirts versus skins. Towards the end I ended up with the ball smashing into my face,” Stan said. Craig definitely remembered that day, definitely remembered seeing all of his hot friends shirtless. Hell, he even remembered catching the ball right before it hit  _ him _ in the face. (He also remembered feeling truly accepted when it never occurred to anybody that they were shirtless in front of a very gay boy, they were never uncomfortable with him.)

Oh, and then the way Stan stood back up and kept playing? The kid’s nose bled all over the field and acted like it was no big deal. There was probably a time that summer where he jacked off to the memory of that and then called Tweek because he felt guilty. 

“Your nose started to bleed but you kept playing anyway. There was blood on the ground for weeks and Officer Barbrady tried to convince the town that someone got murdered.” Officer Barbrady meant well, but how could anyone be a decent cop when they couldn’t read beyond a fourth-grade level? Stan laughed at the reminder though, which was nice since he’d just been crying. 

“Yeah, well, the reason I got slammed was that I wasn’t paying attention. I was staring at your chest. And Token’s. And Clyde’s. And then all of a sudden my ass was on the ground, my nose was bleeding, and my eyes started to sting. And I realized that other straight guys didn’t look at their friends the way I did. Straight guys would have stared at Wendy, Bebe, and Red in their tank tops. I mean, don’t get me wrong I  _ definitely _ stared at Wendy, but… fuck, man, I’m bi. I am a bisexual person. I like girls and boys and I really,  _ really _ like you.”

Well fuck Craig with a stick and call him a broom. This was  _ not _ what he was expecting. Stan Marsh the star quarterback was bisexual and liked him, Craig Tucker. Could Craig get that on a shirt? He would wear it under his jacket for the rest of the winter, and then also for the rest of time. 

“You like me?” he whispered. He couldn’t believe how light the sound was of him talking. Stan nodded though, with his earnest eyes looking into Craig’s own. 

“But if you’re… I thought that if you… why aren’t you out?” Craig knew his fear of Stan overreacting to finding out Craig’s crush was a little much. Stan was the first among them to truly embrace the idea of homosexuality being okay and had done nothing in recent years to draw back on that belief. 

“My dad’s biphobic, and so are a lot of people, even others who aren’t straight. And football culture is totally homophobic and I didn’t want the team to turn on me. Also, I struggle with depression so I figured that it would just be another excuse for people to hate me.” Shit, yeah, Craig forgot about  _ that _ part of society. Craig smiled. 

“What about now?” At this, Stan blushed and covered up his face with his hands. He mumbled something into them, and Craig was pretty sure on what that was. 

“I’m sorry, what? What was that?” Stan mumbled a little louder but did not remove his hands from his face. 

“You want what? That sounded like something, but I can’t tell…” Craig grinned, getting up on his knees and crawling closer. His face was just a couple away from Stan’s. Stan moved his fingers so that their eyes could meet. Then he took away his hands completely. 

“Kiss me,” he breathed, and Craig complied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> Let me know what you think of Craig's pov. He's kind of a dork, huh?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theeeee End!

The initial changes that took place were weird for Stan and could be listed by going through the first day at school after he and Craig declared themselves boyfriends. It started with Kyle getting in the backseat with a sly grin on his face, and when Craig gave him a peck on the lips as he sat shotgun. (Kenny yelled obscenities everytime it happened but that wasn’t new.) Stan was nervous about walking into the school once they got there but Craig simply grabbed his hand and smiled at him. Though nothing during classes changed, Craig and his friends joined Stan, Kyle, and Kenny at lunch as if they had all sat together every day before then.

Stan couldn’t help but look at his peers’ faces as he interacted with his boyfriend and his friends. Some people seemed to not notice the handholding and the physical closeness, while others openly stared at it. He heard whispers of his name in the halls and at lunch but one of his friends or Craig would grab his hand and drag him to their next destination before he could dwell too much on it. His teammates pretended as though nothing was different, which was about as progressive as he could have expected.

It made the rest of the year easier though, knowing that if something went wrong he could just turn around and see Craig or Kyle or Kenny.

It was mid-June, just over a week after junior year ended. Football conditioning ate up a lot of Stan’s time and energy. While Stan did drills, Craig chose to run laps around a nearby track. They would meet up afterward and spend the rest of the night together. Sometimes this meant that they met up with Kyle and Heidi for a double date, sometimes this meant playing video games against each other, and sometimes it meant cuddling on the couch of one of their homes and watching a movie. A lot of nights ended with the two of them spending the night at whoever’s house it was.

Some people couldn’t stand to hold or be held by their partner all night, couldn’t remain comfortable while so close to another source of warmth. Stan Marsh was not one of those people, and in fact slept _better_ with someone’s arms around with him, or with a body in his own arms. He and Craig sometimes bickered over who would be the little spoon, but if one of them had a bad day then there was no reason to.

On a Monday morning, Stan’s phone alarm woke the two of them up. A reminder on the phone screen told Stan to get ready for his therapy appointment. He checked the time on the reminder as he turned the alarm off.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Craig murmured into Stan’s neck. He pulled Stan’s body closer to his chest, scratching slowly at his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“If I give you the keys, will you drop me off and pick me up?” Stan asked, rubbing his thumb along the arm that rested over his stomach. There was something about therapy that drained him of his energy sometimes. When he left appointments he couldn’t help just wanting to digest the conversation instead of paying attention to road signs and speed limits.

“Yeah, babe,” Craig agreed, kissing the back of Stan’s shoulder. Stan slowly turned over to face Craig and wrap his arm around him. They gazed at each other and smiled before shuffling closer to join their lips in a kiss.

Affection came easily to someone like Stan. He loved the small, soft touches that came with relationships. He liked playing with Craig’s hair and fingers and didn’t care about anything else when he made out with his boyfriend in the school’s hallways. Craig admitted to being surprised at how easy it was for Stan to explore the physical part of their relationship. They hadn’t done anal yet but they seemed to be consciously working their way up to it.

As their tongues glided over each other, their hands grasped at exposed body parts. Stan pressed his fingertips into the knobs of Craig’s spine and Craig squeezed Stan’s ass as he eased his thigh between Stan’s. Stan responded to this effort by throwing a leg over Craig’s hips and using a free hand to bring Craig’s face closer to his.

A wave of heat ran through them and Craig gently pushes Stan further onto his back while he lies on top of him. Instinct took over and they began grinding their hips into each other. Stan broke the kiss and started sucking on his boyfriend’s collarbone.

Craig pushed himself up and let his hips drag over Stan’s. He smirked.

“Since you won’t be driving, I think I’ll go ahead and drain you of energy now,” he said. Stan laughed at how _not_ sexy that sounded but didn’t complain as the taller boy slid down the bed and pulled down his boxers.

He was gonna have a hard time looking his boyfriend’s parents in the eyes when they went downstairs.

 

“So, Stanley, how much has your life changed since you began your relationship with Mr. Tucker?” Pr- _Ms. Victoria_ asked him. Stan tried hoped he wasn’t blushing. He knew it was coming; they were twenty minutes into their session and she hadn’t found anything to focus on when he talked about conditioning.

“It’s uh- it’s good. He’s really nice to me even when he doesn’t feel good. A couple days ago when I got out of practice, he was waiting for me like always, but I could tell he hadn’t gone running like usual. He said he just didn’t feel like it, and I thought that was it. Then we went to City Wok, and he didn’t eat much. He said he felt fine when I asked, but then I told him that it wouldn’t do either of us any good if he wasn’t honest, you know? So he admitted that he was mad at himself for worrying so much about Callisto because she sneezed a couple times.”

“What did you say to him?” his therapist asked. Stan shrugged.

“I told him that it was okay to worry about one of his guineas getting sick because I worry about Sparky sometimes. And he shouldn’t be mad at himself for worrying, because it meant that he cared enough to help her if she did get sick. He seemed okay but we still went to his house and played with the three of them for a couple hours. I think she slept above his head that night, but I’m not sure.” Stan was definitely sure because a picture of it became the wallpaper of his phone’s home screen.

For a minute, he watched as the blonde woman scribbled in her notes. Her facial expression was serious, and he could tell that she was about to ask a Question, the kind that he had to be careful about answering.

“You know, Stan, sometimes we see people as our saviors, the ones who can make our problems go away. Many people think that their romantic partner can cure their depression or anxiety. The truth is, in order to get better, we have to put in most of the effort ourselves. Are you aware of that?” At this question Stan drew his feet up, leaving his sneakers on the floor.

“Not really. Craig’s only one person on my support team, I know this. Before we started dating I was afraid I only liked him because I knew he could help. But I like him for him, and I know he has his own problems too. Sometimes I need to talk to my mom or Kyle instead of him and sometimes he has to be with Clyde or Token but I can still lean on him. We can’t fix each other but we can listen. It’s like we’re speaking with the same accent, so it’s easiest to understand each other.”

Ms. Victoria smiled at that and told him that he was very smart. It wasn’t patronizing or sarcastic and it made his chest feel warm. He smiled behind his raised knees, only for that smile to be dropped a moment later.

“I’m glad that your relationship with him is going well. Now, I want to talk about your relationship with your _father_.”

Oh, no.

 

Craig greeted him right outside the building with a bag with KFC. Stan kissed him on the cheek and grabbed his free hand.

“How was it?” the taller boy asked. It was a short walk to Stan’s car.

“Not bad- she seemed just as tired as I am with my dad, so that’s validating. I learned a new technique to deal with the intrusive thoughts… you know, she’s a really good therapist.” At this, Craig laughed and started the engine. He gave a specific look to his boyfriend.

“Trust me, _I know_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, I thought it was cute. Let me know what you think????


End file.
